


Many Loves and Only One War

by Agent_24



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Depression, Gen, M/M, Platonic Soulmates, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmates, Suicidal Ideation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23322478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent_24/pseuds/Agent_24
Summary: Once upon a time people began naming their children after color. It was a method of defiance against a tyranny that opposed the expression of any and all emotion...including the experience and celebration of the greatest and deepest forms of love.A soulmate au.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen & Oscar Pine, Qrow Branwen & Ozpin, Qrow Branwen & Raven Branwen, Qrow Branwen & Ruby Rose, Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 44
Kudos: 138





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **IMPORTANT NOTES:**
> 
> As usual I can't ever just let the simpler rules of tropey AUs lie. This is a color soulmate au in which the world is black and white until you meet your soulmate, with some exceptions, those being: 
> 
> 1) Soulmates are not inherently romantic, and in fact are more typically platonic  
> 2) It's suspected that every person has many, many soulmates, but with Grimm being the way they are the world being so vast, meeting more than one or two is considered a stroke of luck  
> 3) Typically, each soulmate affords you one color: the color of their aura. Sometimes, when two souls are tied more tightly than usual, you get many colors. This is incredibly rare.
> 
> Please note that this fic will follow canon events. That said, the lack of confirmation for Clover's death after so long, as well as many, many parallels with Penny and the fall of the two previous schools that seem to point towards his resurrection makes it seem to me that we'll see him again in Volume 8. Since I'm uncomfortable with writing prediction fic, I'll be writing the final chapter of this story after those events and will add a death tag as is necessary.
> 
> In the event that I'm wrong - which, again, I think has little probability - I will not cover Clover's death. 
> 
> Finally, both the quote at the end and the title of this piece are taken from the poetry of Richard Siken. Please give his stuff a read (and, if you're so inclined, please buy directly from his publisher, as he is recovering from his stroke and could use every bit of full income he can get).

Qrow was born seeing the color red.

It’s common when you have a twin. As children, neither of them really understood that red was not universally seen, that blood didn’t look so striking to most. Seeing red tended to be a helpful ability when your tribe lived in the middle of the woods and thrived off taking from others; it made food easier to find, prey easier to track once wounded.

Raven likes his color well enough, thinks it makes killing easier if you could better see their life spilled out on the ground. And it makes Grimm stand out a little more. Raven dresses herself in red too, like a symbol of what she can see and what she can do, of the life she chooses.

Qrow feels a little indifferent about it. It’s useful, and it’s his sister’s, and that’s all. 

Soulmates are just trouble, is the thing. Raven’s trouble and Qrow knows that, but she’s all he has—all that didn’t want to abandon him for his semblance—and so he lets her talk him into things, like staying with the tribe and stealing things he wanted instead of things he needed, and killing. Part of him grows embittered towards the color red for that.

He lets her talk him into heading for Beacon, too. Or rather, he lets her talk him into killing Huntsmen. It doesn’t feel right, walking in the door of the Academy and knowing that every student here is effectively a new mark. 

The Headmaster looks a bit youthful to be running a school this prestigious, Qrow thinks. He speaks with a calm air of wisdom, and Qrow almost wants to listen genuinely. The Headmaster introduces himself as Professor Ozpin, no last name. Or perhaps no first. 

And as his eyes drift over the crowd of students, as his gaze meets Qrow’s for the first time, the scarf around his neck suddenly bursts into the color green.

Qrow freezes. The Headmaster loses the rhythm of his speech just briefly before continuing on, but Qrow doesn’t miss the way his brows go up ever so slightly. 

He glances at Raven and finds her already staring at him, mouth set in a scowl and her own brows pinched. In growing horror, Qrow whispers, “...Did you see that?”

Raven grits her teeth. “Yes.”

After orientation, they disappear into the school gardens. All the students are being packed into an open room for now, until teams are decided, and it offers no privacy. Qrow listens for intruders and rakes his hand through his bangs, then starts, “Raven—” 

“It doesn’t change anything,” Raven says sharply. “We’re still here to learn how to…” she glances around, paranoid, then repeats, “It doesn’t change anything.”

Qrow looks around the garden, unable to help marvelling even as he tries to process this. Green is everywhere here. He’s never seen so much color in the world all at once. It’s beautiful. He tries, “Raven, he’s the _headmaster.”_

“So what?” Raven snaps, but she sounds upset. Her eyes are darting over the garden too, gaze captured by a bed of roses. “So what.” 

_I can’t do this,_ Qrow wants to tell her. _I can’t do this. That’s our soulmate. It’d be like backstabbing you. I can’t do this._ But Raven is all he has, so he says nothing, and they keep planning.

In the end, he doesn’t have to say anything. By some terrible stroke of luck, Raven locks eyes with a blond student in the middle of the woods and gains the ability to see the color orange.

* * *

Ozpin speaks with them separately.

“Are you enjoying the green?” he asks kindly.

Qrow hesitates. “There’s…a lot of it.”

Ozpin smiles. “That there is.” He pauses, then sips from a steaming mug. It smells like chocolate. There’s a plate of cookies on the table too, and Qrow does his best not to take one for fear of looking too childish. It’s been a while since he had any sweets. “Your shade of red is new to me.”

Qrow looks at him oddly. “Just the shade?”

Ozpin sits his mug down. “You and your sister aren’t my first soulmates.”

“Oh,” Qrow says. Two soulmates are odd enough, he thinks. Twins are always a special case, but still…two in a day, and not Ozpin’s firsts?

Ozpin clears his throat. Something about the way he tilts his chin up seems guarded. “Certain soulmates give you…more colors than others,” he says. “I’ve had red already, but not this dark. It…adds depth. But I didn’t ask you here to discuss the nuances of color theory. In the past, my soulmates and I have typically formed…a coalition of sorts.”

Qrow feels tension crawl up his spine. A coalition. Like the Branwen tribe. Like his plot with Raven.

Ozpin goes on, “All Huntsmen are responsible for protecting humanity from the Grimm. But my soulmates and I…we’ve been fighting a much grander threat.” He sets his mug down, lacing his fingers together. “I won’t hold you to this expectation. And I can’t tell you much right now, not until I’m certain I can trust you. That said…” he takes his Scroll out of his pocket and lays it on the desk. A holo screen opens, and on it is Qrow’s first battle with the newly formed Team STRQ. Hazed in glittering blue data and light, Qrow watches his own form dicing through a pack of Beowulfs. The girl he met in the woods—Summer Rose, he thinks her name was—all but dances behind him, taking on the Grimm at the rear. 

That had been strange. Qrow is used to fighting at Raven’s side, while they both face forward and towards the threat. Having someone as a support at his back had been…nice.

(Oddly enough, Qrow could see the color of her eyes. They’re silver, too vibrant to just be grayscale. But the color doesn’t match her aura, and anything else silver—his necklace, Harbinger’s blade, the shiny buckles on Raven’s belts—still remains washed out and monotone.) 

“Your fighting ability is leagues above most of the newest students,” Ozpin compliments. “Your team is highly skilled as a unit already, to say the least. Who taught you to fight with a scythe?” 

Qrow chews his lip.

Ozpin waits, then waves his hand. “You don’t need to tell me,” he says. “I only meant to say that I was impressed. It’s not an easy weapon to master. You and your sister are precisely the type of fighters I like to make allies of.”

 _We’re not,_ Qrow wants to say. _We’re thieves. Killers. Bad luck, bad omens._

Ozpin clears his throat again, sheepish all of a sudden. He admits, “I apologize for making this sound like a job interview. It…Well. It certainly is a job, and more dangerous than the one you signed up for, if you can believe that. But it’s equally important to me that, like your teams, this…brotherhood, for lack of a better phrase, consists of individuals who I can have faith in, and in turn have faith in me.” He hesitates. “Regardless of whether or not you end up accepting, I’d like us to be friends, as difficult as that may be with me being your Headmaster.” 

Qrow doesn’t expect the guilt to well up in him so sharply. He’s sure Raven will get this same speech, and she likely won’t feel affected by it. He doesn’t know why he’s affected by it. Maybe it’s just been a long time since anyone besides his sister really wanted to be around him. Maybe that will change when Ozpin learns of his semblance. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe Ozpin will end up being one of the Tribe’s marks.

He desperately hates that idea.

“I’ll think about it,” Qrow says after a while. 

Ozpin smiles again. A strange kind of fondness bursts in Qrow’s chest; he’s never felt that for anyone but his sister before. “Thank you,” Ozpin says, and his voice softens. “It’s…been some time since I had any soulmates in my life.”

Qrow frowns at him. “You sound like you’ve had a lot before.”

Ozpin nods. “I have.”

“How old _are_ you?”

The smile turns a little mischievous. Ozpin takes a cookie from the plate and bites into it, apparently unashamed of his fondness for desserts. “Isn’t that a bit rude to ask?” he says, teasing.

Qrow opens his mouth, then shuts it. Ozpin laughs quietly and offers him a cookie. Qrow’s frown deepens before he takes it. It’s delicious.

“Please feel free to take your time deciding,” Ozpin says. “There’s no time limit. And I won’t rescind.” 

That’s new to Qrow too. An open offer with no consequences for refusing, no pressure for an answer. It seems too much like a gift. Qrow has learned it best not to trust gifts. 

But there is some thrill in it, in the idea of protecting people from something mysterious that most Huntsmen don’t qualify for. Qrow has never had to protect anyone outside his tribe, but he likes the notion. It feels noble. It feels right.

Maybe he just likes the idea of another soulmate at his side. But that seems to be okay too, if Ozpin is being genuine.

He takes his time deciding. Just as he thought, Raven insists they simply learn, graduate, and move on with their plan, though the argument gets weaker the longer she knows Taiyang. Qrow thinks on Ozpin’s offer for all four of his years at Beacon, and each interaction becomes less like a student and a headmaster and more like two fast friends tied by fate.

On graduation day, Qrow accepts. For once, Raven follows _him,_ however reluctantly.

Ozpin smiles and embraces them both so tightly that it hurts.

Afterwards, Oz finds James. Qrow is told that his aura is a gorgeous shade of evening blue, but he can’t see it. James doesn’t like him and the feeling is mutual, but he’s fun to tease. 

Glynda has no such upsides. Oz pretends that he doesn’t find her exasperation at Qrow and James’s arguments funny. Leonardo is precisely the opposite of what Ozpin described Qrow as when they met, and Qrow doesn’t know what to think of Theodore. But they’re all Ozpin’s soulmates too, and so he’s mostly civil, with the exception of James.

He tries a little harder to be nice after James’s accident. It doesn’t work.

* * *

Raven leaves when Ozpin tells them he’s immortal. Ozpin doesn’t bother to take the shifting ability from her.

She argues with Qrow about this before she goes. It isn’t pretty. Raven wants to return to the tribe and stop fighting what’s likely an unwinnable fight and Qrow wants badly to fulfill the purpose he’s thrown himself into. Raven doesn’t understand how he could fully abandon the life they’ve always known and Qrow doesn’t understand how the life they’ve built means so little to her. He doesn’t understand how she could leave Team STRQ. He doesn’t understand how she could leave Yang when she’s so young.

He doesn’t understand how she could leave Taiyang. Or Ozpin. 

Or him. 

Tai is angry. That argument with Qrow is ugly, too, and full of accusations that belie a fear of abandonment on both sides. Maybe Qrow’s eyes just remind him of Raven’s too much.

Qrow drinks more alcohol than he ever has in his life and winds up sobbing all over Ozpin’s jacket. And he feels like a terrible person for not paying attention to what Oz is feeling about Raven’s leaving, but he likes the airy numbness the whiskey leaves buzzing in his brain too much to try to pull himself out of it.

He weathers his hangover on Ozpin’s couch and starts the process over again the next night.

* * *

Summer is the glue that holds the remainder of Team STRQ together. 

Qrow cuts back on his drinking after Summer tells him he can’t see Yang anymore if he doesn’t stop. So he quits…or at least, he doesn’t drink whenever he plans to see them. Things with Taiyang remain stiff; Qrow doesn’t get how he could be in a relationship with Summer after knowing what it’s like to fall in love with a soulmate, but Yang gets a mother figure out of it, and a sister, so Qrow doesn’t push the topic.

He stops drinking altogether when Ruby is born.

When Qrow holds her for the first time, she’s asleep. Yang sits on the hospital’s cheap couch beside him and peers at her sister, then asks, “Uncle Qrow, are you crying?”

“No,” Qrow says, even though he is, and Summer and Tai can’t help laughing at him. The sound rouses the baby, who kicks and fidgets in Qrow’s arms. She opens her little mouth to scream, but cuts off when she opens her eyes—that same, oddly visible silver as her mother’s—and then coos brightly and reaches for his cloak.

Qrow suddenly understands what Ozpin meant about his shade of red, and can’t help being a little delighted when the only person the baby likes more than him is her mother.

* * *

Summer disappears. Qrow starts drinking again.

* * *

Ozpin dies and everything goes to shit.

After years of being able to see green, watching much of the world wash gray all over again hits Qrow like a knife to the gut. He cuts down Grimm through his tears and has to stop for a moment to sink to his knees on Beacon’s ruined and colorless lawn, sobs wracking his body so hard it hurts his ribs. He has never felt a pit in his chest like this, raw and open and all-consuming.

In fast repayment for the earlier save, James takes Qrow's arm and hauls him back to his feet. He himself has tears streaked down his face. It is, possibly, the first time they’ve understood each other.

There’s no time to dwell on this. There is a brilliant flash of silver light from the top of Beacon Academy and Qrow must fly up to collect his unconscious niece from beneath the shadow of a Wyvern. He loses track of both James and Glynda after that.

* * *

Seeing Raven is always strange nowadays, partly because they used to be so close, and partly because her aura hasn’t looked quite so blood red to him for about a decade now.

He’s gotten a little more used to the sting of it. The whiskey helps.

“I told you Beacon would fall,” Raven says through her teeth after he makes a scathing remark about Raven’s family values. He doesn’t know why she’s upset. It’s true. Hell, Raven isn’t even here to see _him,_ not really. 

Qrow swirls his glass. “You should come back, Raven,” he tells her, and he doesn’t know why he’s trying. Maybe he wouldn’t try if not for the fact that they’ve been tied at the soul since birth.

“You’re the one who left,” Raven snaps at him. 

It strikes him, not for the first time, as Raven goes on and on about the tribe being family, that the entirety of their time at Beacon was just a long con for her. That he and Ozpin being there, being happy to risk everything for the whole of humanity, wasn’t enough to deter her from the tribe’s mission. The threat Raven poses has always been serious, but now, he’s seen the damage done to Shion, and he knows she has the Maiden. Now, things are more than tension between twins. Now, Raven camps dangerously close to enemy lines.

Whatever. Qrow’s got a soulmate across the street at the inn to prioritize, if Raven’s going to act like that. He can confirm the Maiden’s whereabouts later, when his niece is safe and he’s rallied some more friends together.

In the meantime, he asks that cute waitress to make his drink a double.

* * *

_Not again. Not again, not again—_

His wings ache. He lands hard and nearly stumbles and his ankle twinges a little as he runs. This run-down city is covered in overgrown grass and clovers and ivy and all of it is gray. He’s terrified that he’ll lose a shade of bright red and not realize it until he arrives and sees fresh blood. 

He makes it just in time. _Thank fuck._ Ruby looks so relieved to see him that for a second he forgets that if he’d been just a little unlucky, the scorpion faunus would’ve killed her.

And the only problem now is that Ruby is so much like Summer. The only problem now is that he’s one of Ruby’s favorite people, and their souls are linked, and she refuses to let him fight on his own like he needs. 

They’re going to have to talk about this, he realizes. He’s going to have to tell her that he is walking misfortune and that he’ll hurt her if she keeps jumping into battle with him like this. Ruby’s aura is near shattered and Qrow moves the second he hears the wood splintering, and the faunus—Tyrian—poisons him, sure, but Ruby is safe, and that’s all that matters.

In his feverish haze, he does his best not to think about what Ruby must be feeling, watching him die slowly like this.

* * *

“Excuse me…”

The voice is young. Too young to be in a bar, for sure. Qrow turns from his drink and raises a brow at a teenager who barely looks fourteen, who stands shy and sheepish and won’t look him in the eye. 

“I don’t think they allow kids in here, pipsqueak,” Qrow tells him.

The kid hunches his shoulders, starts to look up before he freezes and little and then mutters, “Shut up, I’m getting there.” 

Qrow stares at him. 

“I’m…uh,” the kid says, flustered, then tries again, “I’m supposed to tell you…I’d like my cane back?”

Qrow’s mouth falls open. The kid looks up finally, meets his gaze, and green bursts back into the world.

“Ozpin,” Qrow breathes.

The boy flinches and drops his gaze again. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I…there’s a lot of colors.”

 _It’s brighter,_ Ozpin had told him once, on the anniversary of a soulmate’s death. He’d been quiet in his mourning; Qrow hadn’t known what to say. _When I reincarnate…if I meet a soulmate for the second time, I see their color so bright it’s blinding. It fades back to normal after a bit, but it takes me a while to get used to it. It’s only happened to me a few times._

_But I was so glad to see them._

Qrow rises from his seat in a flash. The hole in his chest that’s been there since Beacon starts to close up. He almost expects Ozpin to hug him, but the incarnation is new. The kid is still himself, still wary of strangers even with all the crimson in his vision, and the few steps he takes backwards stings a little.

“It’s good to see you, Oz,” Qrow says, throat tight, and tosses the kid Oz’s cane. The weapon that fit at Oz’s waist looks enormous against the boy’s short stature. He’s not even up to Qrow’s shoulder.

The boy looks up at him again with wide eyes. There’s green in them that wasn’t there in the last incarnation. 

Qrow takes his drink from the counter and throws the entire thing back.

* * *

The world sways. It sways and it shifts and it’s _green_ and Qrow is more giddy than he’s been in a long time.

He’s acting like an idiot. He knows this. He’s being an idiot and this is a terrible first impression to make on Ozpin’s new…body? Host? Those both sound wrong. The _kid_ is named Oscar which is _hilarious_ and he’s still staring at Qrow with a little apprehension. Qrow shouldn’t be drunk for this. He should _not_ be drunk for this. But this is Ozpin and it’s not Ozpin at all and the world is green and everything hurts and he doesn’t know what to do except laugh and empty the bottle of vodka he’d bought from the bar.

“Are…are you alright?” Oscar tries. 

Qrow tosses his head back and starts cracking up, then cuts himself off sharply and takes a long, deep swig. “I’m great,” he says, sways a little. Oscar stares at him, a little horrified. Qrow turns away.

They’ve talked about this. Him and Oz, that is. The original. Not the original. His Oz. They’ve talked about this before, about him drinking when he gets upset and about downing an entire bottle in an evening and collapsing wherever he managed to fall. The vodka leaves a nice burning in the back of his mouth that pinches at his sinuses and makes him briefly forget that half-sewn-up pit in his chest.

“Is he always like this?” Oscar whispers.

 _I’m not,_ Qrow wants to answer, only he is. He is always drunk because everything always hurts and Ruby’s judging silver eyes aren’t on him to make him remember his promise to Summer, Yang’s not here and her arm’s fucking gone and Beacon is ruined and Leo’s a jackass and Ozpin is dead. Sort of.

Qrow chucks the half-empty vodka bottle at a nearby house. It hits a window, and both shatter on impact.

 _Fuck,_ Qrow thinks, but all he says is, “Ha!”

They make it back to the group’s rented place by virtue of the fact that Qrow’s sense of direction is fucking impeccable, thank you, bird instincts. He wonders if Ozpin has told Oscar about the bird thing. Probably not. Secrets, secrets. Qrow leans against the doorframe to steady himself and waits while Oscar knocks hesitantly. Jaune answers the door and Qrow only half-catches Oscar asking after Ruby, half-catches Nora’s defensive _why._

“Um,” Oscar starts and Brothers, he’s so awkward for someone who’s basically a demigod. None of the kids have any fucking idea, either, and Qrow suddenly finds this so funny that he bursts into laughter, shaking Oscar’s shoulders as he shoves his way into the house.

“I found him!” he cries. He could cry. Everything hurts.

“I think her uncle could use some help,” Oscar finishes, and gods, if that ain’t the truth.

Qrow hiccups. The vodka still burns. He needs some water. “Woo,” he sings, and the world spins in circles as he falls on the couch. “I found him,” he rasps. His throat hurts. Ozpin is back faster than he could’ve hoped and maybe the world isn’t going to burn all the way to the ground and Oz found him somehow in spite of his luck and his throat hurts.

Ruby hollers something about her comics and it makes Qrow’s head ache. She stops short in the living room and sighs, and doesn’t she look just like Summer, and she slaps her hand to her forehead. “Qrow,” she says, not _Uncle_ , and that bites. “Did you get drunk again?” 

Qrow burps. He’s gross. He smells like alcohol and sweat and he’s gross. Fuck. Ozpin is dead and he’s not dead and his new incarnation is staring at him and Ruby is embarrassed and frustrated and this fucking sucks. “Maaaybe,” he slurs, laughing.

“You…have silver eyes,” Oscar interrupts, curious.

There’s a long pause. The light stings. Qrow throws his arm over his face.

“Who are you?” Ruby asks. Qrow laughs. 

“Um,” Oscar says. “Well…my name is Oscar Pine—”

Oscar Pine. Ospine. Ozpin. Gods, that’s funny. Qrow feels two seconds from bursting into tears. “Wait for it…” he drawls. This is gonna knock everyone’s fucking socks off. 

“You probably know me as Professor Ozpin?” Oscar says, like a question.

An audible gasp goes around the room. Qrow laughs and opens his eyes and Oscar is standing there with his hands folded behind his back just like Ozpin used to and gods, that _fucking_ sucks.

“I did it!” Qrow yells, throwing his fists up in victory, only he didn’t do anything, and his throat hurts, and then he falls off the couch.

* * *

Two betrayals in one day is a little much, Qrow thinks. He can’t say he’s surprised, though. Ozpin never had gotten overly lucky when it came to soulmates.

Raven stings just as bad as she did the first time. Something still feels off about her in a way Qrow can’t place. The way she fights is too careful, lacking the ferocity of someone going all out, and the color of her aura isn’t quite the color of blood.

Qrow’s fucking had it. She’d left Tai, left Oz, left him, and he’s fucking had it.

Maybe he feels a little vindicated at the flash of hurt in her eyes when he disowns her. Sue him.

Whatever. Whatever! He doesn’t have time to worry about his shit sister when Hazel is cornering Oz…Oscar. Oz would’ve moved by now. Qrow dives and pulls Oscar out of Hazel’s reach, Harbinger’s blade curved defensively in front of their bodies.

“No!” Oscar snaps, and Qrow steps back from him in surprise until he realizes Oscar’s talking to Ozpin. _Now’s not the time,_ Qrow wants to say, _not against these people,_ but Oscar’s already leapt back into the fight, arguing with Oz all the while.

He takes a single hit before Qrow steps in again. Hazel brings his fists down so hard that Qrow and Oscar both go flying. Qrow springs to his feet and brings his sword down on Hazel’s arm, gritting his teeth when Harbinger barely makes a cut. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Oscar staring at him in shock, and he realizes that this is the first time the kid has ever looked at him like someone worth depending on.

Hazel flings Qrow to the ground, and by the time he gets up, it’s abundantly clear that Ozpin’s taken over. Oscar is small and Ozpin is fast, which suddenly leaves Hazel giving chase and struggling to keep up, and leaves Qrow free to combat Lionheart.

At least until Oz takes a hit to the shoulder (Oscar is small, damn everything, he’s goddamn fourteen). Qrow moves on instinct—Lionheart doesn’t, Lionheart made the damn shot, that traitor, Qrow fucking hates him for it—and next thing he knows, there’s pain in his spine so sharp that he blacks out. 

He comes to and finds Ren has taken his place. Qrow stumbles to his feet and almost immediately collapses again. Everything fucking hurts. He feels like his entire skeleton got knocked loose. Black spots dance in front of his eyes. The room swims. His knees buckle. His aura is low. Oz is going to die again if he doesn’t get back up.

_Not again. Get up. Not again._

Ren hits the wall at his side, spasming with electricity. Nora swings her war hammer at Hazel’s head and misses, and she’s screaming now, aura flickering, _get up,_ Hazel is going to kill one of these kids if he doesn’t move, _get up—_

The rest of the battle is chaos. Nora’s semblance kicks in and Hazel ends up making a new doorway in the Academy walls, cops show up, Blake is here. Qrow manages to get back to his feet and keeps at the edge of the battle, knowing his aura can’t take much more damage. Ruby shoots Lionheart and the coward fucking runs, and Qrow thinks absently that he’s going to wring his fucking neck later.

He doesn’t have to, in the end. Just as Yang returns with the relic and Hazel, Ember, and Mercury make their retreat, Oz drops to his knees. 

“Oz?!” Qrow demands, dropping to the floor beside him, eyes flitting over the singe of Oscar’s sleeve in search of the color red. 

“Leo,” Oz rasps, and then, with the panicked edge of someone much younger, “What?” Tears pour down Oscar’s cheeks in rivers, his mouth twisted all out of shape. He meets Qrow’s gaze and his eyes are wild and terrified, his hand clutching at his own chest. “What’s wrong with me?”

Qrow freezes, then bites his tongue so he won’t curse the dearly departed. He exhales. “C’mere, pipsqueak,” he murmurs.

Oscar lets out a short wail, and everyone in the room freezes. Qrow draws him into a hug and shushes him; Oscar shakes against his chest, partly out of pure exhaustion and partly out of grief. “It hurts,” he sobs.

“I know, kiddo,” Qrow says quietly, cupping the back of his head while Oscar weeps into his shoulder. “I know.”

When they return to the house, Oscar sleeps for three days.

* * *

Soulmates are trouble. Qrow’s had it up to fucking here with soulmates. 

Oz had secrets. Qrow had always known that. He’d always respected it. But this…the knowledge that Salem was unkillable, the knowledge that he’d risked his life over and over again for an impossible, unachievable purpose, for a plan that didn’t exist… 

Everything hurts. It’s like Raven all over again but worse; Qrow had learned, over time, to expect little of her, but Oz…Oz. Raven was his sister and Qrow had for better or worse been stuck with her most of his life, but _Oz._

Oz, he chose.

And all for nothing.

He doesn’t mean to punch Oscar. The anger and the hurt and the disappointment well up so sharp and fast that he doesn’t know what to do with it besides lash out. He barely blinks and he’s already struck the poor kid, who goes flying until his back hits a tree. Oz’s eyes stare back at him, tear filled and stunned and hazel instead of brown, and Qrow can’t stand it for so many reasons it nearly makes him feel sick.

“Nobody wanted me,” Qrow rasps. _Nobody except you._ “I was cursed. I gave my life to you because you gave me a place in this world. I thought…” _I thought I meant something to you._ “I thought I was finally doing some good.”

“You are,” Oz pleads. “You are—” 

_Thieves, killers, bad luck, bad omens._ He should’ve been honest from the start, back in Oz’s office all those years ago. Maybe he could’ve spared himself some of this.

“Meeting you was the worst luck of my life,” he whispers, and it’s not true, not really. This hasn’t got anything to do with luck. He means for that to sting, hopes to feel some satisfaction at Oz’s visible misery, at the quiet mumble of “Maybe you’re right,” and the flash of light in Oscar’s eyes that means Oz is retreating. He doesn’t. He’s tired and cold and he wants a drink and Oz somehow has him feeling left behind again, even on top of all the broken trust.

Everything hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A man saw a bird and found him beautiful. The bird  
> had a song inside of him, and feathers. Sometimes the  
> man felt like a bird and sometimes the man felt like a  
> stone—solid, inevitable—but mostly he felt like a bird,  
> or that there was a bird inside him, or that something  
> inside him was like a bird was fluttering. This went on  
> for a long time.
> 
> —The Language of Birds, by Richard Siken


	2. Chapter 2

The smell in each house is putrid.

Qrow doesn’t touch the bodies. Bile rises in his throat as he leans over them, trying to see if there’s any sign of a wound, broken bones, anything. But everything is hauntingly peaceful, eerily quiet, like the entire town just went to bed and didn’t wake up.

He thinks, fleetingly, that it must’ve been nice.

On his second sweep of the grounds, he finds the little bar and the wine cellar. Something about the cellar creeps him out, so he just takes a bottle of cheap liquor from the shelves and heads back to the main house. He’s staring out the window when he starts drinking straight from the bottle’s neck, and he thinks the slow-falling snow looks more endless and desolate than anything he’s ever seen.

That’s probably saying something. And probably a little dramatic besides. But who cares. Everything hurts and Qrow can feel some kind of numbness spreading out from his chest as the alcohol goes down, except for a thick sense of dread he can’t seem to shake.

He doesn’t mean to be so sarcastic when Ruby asks if he’s alright. It’s just that this sucks, and he’s tired, and nothing is going to fix what Oz did, and he’s not okay, and he won’t be for a long time.

He plans to stay awake and then suddenly jolts out of a hard sleep by the sound of shattering glass. Ruby’s face is lined with anger as she stands over him, and Qrow can barely look her in the eye. He doesn’t know how many bottles he emptied. He feels bloated and sick and there’s a sharp, awful pressure behind his eyes he hasn’t felt to this extent in years. 

The fury goes out of Ruby’s face quick, replaced with worry and an understanding that he doesn’t deserve. She hugs him and he almost wishes she wouldn’t—he smells like hard liquor and he’s trying really hard not to cry, and his throat hurts, and now he feels bad for disappointing her. He’s sure she’s tired and frustrated and probably wants to snap at him just like Summer did all those years ago, when Ruby had barely been a thought in her head and Yang had been a toddler just aware enough of the world to know something was wrong with him.  _ Hate to tell you, kid, but this is it. I’m always like this. I’m always a hair short of what people need me to be. _

Ruby is a sweet kid. He loves her to death. Ruby is a sweet kid and a  _ kid _ besides and so all he can do is hope she knows he appreciates the support. Everything that’s been bubbling in him since the trainwreck and the fall of the Beacon and Summer’s death and Raven’s leaving is fit to burst out of him by now and none of it is anything he can talk about to a child, so Qrow tamps it out and washes it down until everything’s left in an apathetic gray haze.

He hasn’t spoken to Oscar since…since Jinn. He doesn’t know what to say.

Except to tell him to fix the damn tire. Which is his fault. Everything is his fault and everything hurts and Ruby’s angry at him and Qrow feels seconds away from losing his  _ entire  _ goddamn shit.

The next time he wakes, it’s because of Ruby again. And Weiss, he thinks. Everything’s blurry and his head hurts. Qrow stumbles to his feet and everything shifts off kilter. Ruby’s cloak against a swathe of gray pricks at him like a needle hammered between his eyes. 

He wants to sleep. He sways and briefly loses his sense of what is up and down and left and right. He can’t— 

Weiss shatters bottles and Qrow jerks into consciousness again. He needs those. He  _ needs  _ them. Weiss chucks each one at the wine cellar and there’s something bitter in the way she grits her teeth. He should ask about that. He feels so much responsibility for all these damn kids and he’s never going to live up to it. Is she going to break every bottle? He needs those. There’s a good thirty more on the shelves and he wonders if she’s going to shatter every single one of them. His throat hurts. His stomach lurches. He thinks he might black out. 

“Stop it!” he snaps. Ruby and Weiss’s little hands grip his arms tight enough to hurt and they push him so hard he can barely keep his feet underneath him. The smell of burning liquor fills his nose. “Stop! What’s wrong with you?! What’s—” 

The flicker of red in the fire catches his eye, a low-pitched groan snagging what little attention he can spare. He makes out a blur of too-skinny bodies, of bone white masks and horrible blunt teeth and hollow red eyes, and feels like his whole body goes limp in his terror.

They get him onto the trailer somehow. All his girls and Oscar who didn’t deserve to be punched. He can never talk to them about this. They shouldn’t see him like this. The world lurches and Maria says something about Apathy that he should pay attention to, but his aura hasn’t brought the world back into focus yet and he can only barely make out what she’s saying.

His childhood hero calls him a disappointment. Qrow can’t even disagree with her.

* * *

He jerks awake as hands grip his arms and pull him upright. A million things register as wrong all at once: the cold, the ache in his spine, the view of the dim-lit street, the thudding at his temples.

“Why am I on the stairs?” he rasps.

“Because no one’s home, Uncle Qrow,” Ruby snaps. His head throbs. “We’ve been out looking for Oscar.”

“Oscar?” he repeats, blinking while his brain slowly slots things into place. They were looking for Oscar. They don’t know where Oscar is. Oscar’s missing. Oscar’s missing and Qrow hasn’t properly said anything to him since he punched the poor kid in the face and he hasn’t said anything to him because he’s been drunk more often than not and— 

He gets to his feet. The pain of his headache swells, and he must look sick, because Ruby moves to support him. Terra mutters something about the neighbors seeing him passed out in front of her house and all he can do is cast his eyes towards the concrete. Hadn’t he said before that these kids were safe with him? Wasn’t he supposed to be the  _ elite Huntsman _ watching over this ragtag team of students? He can’t protect anybody like this. Oscar’s been missing for Brothers know how long and Qrow is suddenly terrified that he’ll lose green again and this time he won’t even know what happened—

The door opens and Oscar, as it turns out, is fine and healthy and dressed like a budding young Huntsman. The kids celebrate this with…a lot of screaming. Goddamn, they’re loud. Qrow rubs his temples as he steps inside just in time to catch Oscar interrupting what sounds like an apology. Qrow owes him one of those and this kid is bad at taking them, he realizes. He’s so mild mannered and hesitant, as if the entire group doesn’t adore him, doesn’t value his word and his presence, him, as  _ Oscar _ and not Oz, and Qrow doesn’t blame him for that with all that’s happened but he hates it all the same— 

“Where are you going now?” Ruby demands.

Qrow stops. He is bad luck. He’s bad luck and these kids are trying to have a hopeful moment of happiness in all this chaos and he’s going to ruin it. “I don’t want to get in the way of your celebration,” he mutters. He can’t look at her. She looks so much like Summer and he’s broken his promise again. He’s never been this hungover before and his aura’s gonna take a hot fucking second to handle this one. He needs to lay down on something that’s not stairs.

“You’ve been gone all day,” Ruby bites out. “Just sit with us.” She’s pissed and he deserves it and maybe he’ll work through that thought later, but all he wants right now is to be left alone. 

He exhales. “Look, Ruby,” he says, patience wearing thin, “I’m glad you kids worked out…whatever that was, but the fact is—”  _ that Oz is still gone, Oz is still a liar, Salem’s still immortal and everything hurts,  _ “—that we’re not a single step closer to Atlas.” 

“Actually,” Jaune says, and Qrow throws him a glare for ruining his out. And the idea he has is insane. It’s even more insane than every other thing they’ve done so far. Jaune wants to steal an airship and these kids are actually fucking considering it. 

“Okay, stop. Just…stop,” Qrow snaps. This is insane. This is fucking insane. He’s too hungover for this. “If this thing goes south, it’s not something we can just fight our way out of. This is the Atlas Military we’re talking about!” Fucking James.  _ Fucking  _ James and his giant ass army that won’t do shit in the end anyways. Qrow exhales and hangs his head for a moment because the outburst has started a new pulse behind his eyes and goddammit, everything hurts. 

“For your sake, just…drop this,” he mutters.  _ Please just drop this. I can’t stop an army. I can keep Grimm off your tails in the wilderness, I can stop assassins. I can’t do this. I can’t keep all of you from getting gunned out of the sky and I can’t lose two soulmates at once. _

“I want to hear him out,” Ruby says.

“Ruby—” 

“I want to hear him out!” she shouts. “I know you’re trying to protect us, and you’re afraid we can’t do this, but right now, I don’t really care what you think!” 

Qrow lurches back a little bit. She may as well have slapped him. 

But she’s right. She’s right, they’ve been in bad situations, and they didn’t always have an adult to save them, and their way has worked out alright so far. He knows that. He’s seen it. He’s proud of them for it. But this is big. This isn’t Grimm. This is a fight against people and Qrow doesn’t want to see her kill somebody at this age. Ruby and Yang deserve better than what he got growing up and it’s clear they’re not exactly getting it with the entire world on their shoulders, but damn everything—

“And if you can keep up with us  _ kids,” _ Ruby adds, because despite everything, she still loves him, and she can’t help roasting him whenever she gets the opportunity, “We’d be happy to have you.”

Qrow’s brow furrows. She doesn’t mean that. Everyone says that and nobody means it and it’d probably be safer for them if he wasn’t there anyways. So now the problem becomes the fact that he couldn’t sit still while they broke into a military base and he knows it; so now the problem is that he’s not sure how much misfortune he can stop from rolling off of him in waves.

Maria snorts at him. “Looks like you didn’t give her enough credit, either,” she says. Qrow isn’t sure what she’s referring to (he’s missed a lot today, apparently) but when he turns back to his niece, she’s still standing tall and staring him down.

That silver gaze is burning and determined, and Qrow wonders how she grew up right in front of his eyes without his notice.

* * *

He can’t do this.  _ Not again. Not again. _ Maria flies off with both of his soulmates and he can’t fucking do this. They’re staring down a fucking missile launcher and he can’t do this. The plane careens into the forest, smoking and crackling with Dust, and he cannot fucking do this.

His wing is on fire from the rough landing before. He waits, terrified, for the green to rush out of the world and there’s no red around for him to check. If Ruby’s gone, he won’t know it until he changes back and sees his own cloak. If Ruby’s gone, he won’t know until he sees her.

The world stays green. Oscar and Oz are fine and so is Ruby except for the fact that she’s walking straight at Cordovin. Qrow manages to snag her hand and he can’t do this. Ruby isn’t Summer and he knows that but gods, if she isn’t just as stubborn.

“I need you to trust me,” Ruby tells him, and he lets her go.

Her speech is valiant. Even looking so small against Cordovin’s mech, she suddenly seems bigger than all of them. For just a moment, this tiny kid he’d held in his arms ages ago seems like the most unstoppable young woman in the world. 

And then Cordovin points her cannon. Qrow’s heart lurches up into his throat so fast that it freezes him. Ruby doesn’t flinch and spins into a blur of petals and she’s  _ gone,  _ shot into the cannon as fast as a bullet and all Qrow can do is try to scream except all that comes out of him is a pitiful squeak of grief and everything hurts— 

Red roses fly out of the cannon just before Dust closes it up in rock and hard ice. Qrow absently registers Weiss’s glyphs slowing Ruby’s fall, but all he cares about is the red of her aura, flickering and near a shatter but there all the same.

He moves.

“Ruby?” he asks, panic still flitting around in his chest as he catches her. “Ruby!”

Her cloak is still red.  _ Bright  _ red. Silver eyes blink open, and her mouth turns up at the corner in familiar victory. 

“Told ya,” Ruby says.

* * *

Qrow puts down his flask and Ruby throws her arms around his neck. It bothers him, low in the pit of his stomach, that his drinking had affected her so much. He should’ve paid better attention, or at least, he should’ve cared about it more. He should’ve thought of something other than how much everything hurt.

Maria has something decent to say about him for once, though. That’s…pretty damn cool, if he’s honest.

The knowledge that Oz had guided Oscar through the landing is…well. Qrow doesn’t say anything about it, not just yet. The fact that Oz has been quietly watching—that Oz had seen him drunk and clumsy as he climbed onto the trailer at Brunswick Farms, that Oz had seen him in his drunken stupor after passing out on the stairs in Argus—makes shame burn in his gut all over again. And he feels stupid for feeling ashamed, because Oz is a liar and doesn’t get to judge him for having a breakdown over it, but he feels it all the same.

He still hasn’t apologized to Oscar. He’d been actively (selfishly) avoiding it at first, but now he just doesn’t know when a good time is. Between Ruby inflicting heart attacks on him and the Leviathan and now the Atleasian fleet flying high and armed and ready in Atlas’s airspace, he doesn’t know when he’s supposed to sit the kid down away from prying ears and say  _ hey, sorry for being a jackass, sorry for socking you in the jaw that one time. _

And, because nobody in Remnant can catch a lucky fucking break, Mantle is, of course, a mess.

* * *

From the air, the sky had been gray smudged in different shades and, in some places, faintly tinted green. Oz had told him once that on clear nights, the Atlas sky was a brilliant rainbow of colors, and from the look on Oscar’s face, that still remains true.

Mantle, on the other hand, is smudged near black with smoke.

The air is thick down here, Dusty and a little hard to breathe. Trucks of people drive by, full of miners wearing hardhats and covered in dirt and soot, and soldiers and automatons march the streets.

Over loudspeakers, Winter’s monotone speech calmly reminds the citizens that the army isn’t just for fighting Grimm. Without much more cheer, James’s announcement promises strength and safety.

James didn’t use to be so uppity about controlling the masses, not back when Oz had just gained that so-called lovely shade of evening blue.

They pass by a pair of men sitting on their stoop, slurring drunk insults until Weiss tosses one of them into a garbage pin. Qrow flinches and wonders if that’s what he’d looked like.

Maria takes them to a dinky little clinic that’s all but falling apart and, after holding nearly an entire conversation, introduces Pietro. Qrow’s never met him, but the guy seems kind and humble, which is more than what most of Atlas’s elite can say. The group flits between topics fast enough to make everyone’s head spin, between Weiss’s sister and Yang’s arm and Team RWBY and a mysterious daughter that doesn’t get explained before sirens go off. 

It’s always something. It’s always fucking something.

Something in his chest feels tight when he sees Grimm pouring through the city. It feels too much like Beacon. Qrow wonders how it’s possible that Sabyrs are roaming the goddamn streets of Mantle when James has the entire fleet on watch. That thought makes him a little uneasy too, though he doesn’t have time to think about it right now. James is scared—paranoid, Pietro had said, but Qrow knows a man slipping when he sees one—and whatever he’s waiting for in the sky must be something big.

The Sabyrs make quick work of the automatons, shocking absolutely no one. Qrow wants to strangle James for all the wasted money. The teams jump into movement as Grimm come pouring down the street and for just a second Qrow feels a little spark of joy. Just a little one. This is what he’s good at, what he was born for, and the way Harbinger slips through tar-black flesh is like nothing else in the world.

He glances back in time to see Oscar kill his first Grimm, and he feels a powerful burst of pride.

The battle grinds to a sharp halt as green light carves through the rest of the Sabyrs, the color so bright that it stings Qrow’s eyes a little. Penny, as it turns out, is the mysterious daughter, and apparently Mantle’s “official protector”. Qrow frowns a little at that. It sounds like…something pacifying, as much as it’s clearly needed. And it doesn’t at all explain how Grimm got into the city in the first place. Mantle is supposed to be surrounded by walls to keep the Grimm out, and the plethora of wealth that Atlas has at its disposal should be well over enough to fix it. What the hell is James doing?

Still. Ruby’s unbearably happy and the whole thing’s pretty damn cute, even with sirens erupting in the distance and Penny having to fly off again. Pietro’s willing to answer their questions and furthermore, they’re going to be able to sit down for a while, and Qrow’s feeling pretty hopeful for once.

“I was honestly expecting things to go a lot rougher,” he admits, and hardly a second after he’s said this, all the kids are in shackles.

Qrow draws Harbinger in a flash and is immediately sent crashing to the ground, arms bound in thick cords. He grunts, eyes flitting to his sword as it falls close but just out of his reach. A team of Atlas personnel (actual  _ people, _ this time) land out of nowhere and start collecting their weapons.

They’re being fucking  _ arrested, _ because of course they are.

Heavy combat boots land within Qrow’s field of vision. A man’s voice: “Good work, team.”

“Hey, pal!” Qrow snaps. It’s always something. It always has to be fucking something. “I’m a licensed Huntsman! Just helped save everyone?” 

He cranes his neck. The soldier is tall and muscular and he’s wearing…a ridiculously modified version of Atlas’s uniform for someone who works in the tundra. For some reason, he’s spinning a horseshoe around his finger. His shoulders are broad and his jawline is unfortunately handsome, mouth set smugly in a way that immediately grates on Qrow’s nerves.

He meets the man’s gaze, and the world suddenly bursts into color. 

Qrow draws in his breath sharply. Oscar had been overwhelmed with this once—perhaps still is sometimes—when he’d met Qrow in the bar back in Mistral, and Oz had described to Qrow many times about how beautiful the world looked in swathes of color. 

Still, Qrow isn’t prepared for this. He’s not prepared for that gentle shade of teal or the soft brown of the man’s hair. He’s not ready for the deep navy on his uniform or the warm orange of Mantle’s evening streets, for the neon signs glimmering on the sides of buildings and the brilliant blue of the Relic lying on the ground. 

There’s so much. It’s achingly vibrant. Qrow doesn’t know where to look, at least until the horseshoe the man was twirling clangs loudly to the pavement.

Qrow looks up at him again. The man’s eyes are wide, mouth open in his speechlessness. Whatever he’d been about to say seems to have died on his tongue. He takes a step back, but his hand lingers in the space he vacates, like he’d started to reach out for Qrow and stopped himself.

One of his teammates stops collecting weapons and calls, “Clover? You alright?”

Clover. It’s always fucking  _ green. _ Qrow could almost swear he could see the outline of the man’s aura shining and healthy around his body, paler than Oz’s green and unlike anything Qrow’s ever seen. 

“I—” Clover says, then swallows hard and stoops to pick up his fallen horseshoe. And Harbinger. Qrow blinks incredulously and watches, open mouthed, as Clover hands his weapon off to an automaton and moves to pick up the Relic.

_ Certain soulmates give you…more colors than others, _ Oz had said to him once, and later elaborated,  _ Sometimes you look at someone who, above all others, is meant to be in your life for as long as you both grace the earth, and that can be…the most precious thing you can experience, or the most cursed.  _

Qrow knows now that Oz’s was a curse. And with his luck, he seems to be headed down that same path, because the world is a goddamn rainbow right now and he’s still getting carted off to jail.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Pietro demands. “What are the Ace-Ops even doing in Mantle?”

Ace-Ops. The  _ Ace-Ops.  _ As in, James’s extremely well-trained, highly specialized team of Huntsmen.

_ Fucking great. _

As if he hadn’t just fumbled his own trinket, the man—Clover—turns, overly charming, and says, “Doctor! Good to see you. We heard reports of an unauthorized ship making an unauthorized landing, followed by an unauthorized use of weapons by unlicensed Huntsmen.”

Unauthorized, unauthorized, unauthorized. Qrow winces with each use of the word. They can’t deny the ship, they can’t deny the landing, and they sure as hell can’t deny that students under his care were caught carving through Grimm in the middle of the street.

Shit.

“If we could just talk this out—” Pietro tries.

Clover offers an easy shrug. “They can talk it out once they make it up to Atlas,” he reassures, then turns to his team and orders, “Move out!”

And just as he casts a line from what looks to be a fishing pole up to the rooftops, he meets Qrow’s eyes once more, a pinch in his brow and the edge of his mouth turned downward. 

Then the reel clicks, and the line goes taut, and he’s gone.

“Now this,” Qrow mutters as they’re unceremoniously shoved into a prisoner transport, his pride wounded and a swelling sense of disappointment simmering in his chest, “This is much closer to what I was expecting.”

And  _ this… _ fucking hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you want it? Do you want anything I have? Will you throw me to the ground  
> like you mean it, reach inside and wrestle it out with your bare hands?  
>  If you love me, Henry, you don’t love me in a way I understand.  
> Do you know how it ends? Do you feel lucky? Do you want to go home now?
> 
> —Wishbone by Richard Siken


End file.
